


where the weather wouldn't follow you (wherever you go)

by silveryink



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Sad Ending, Tragedy, it isn't in the warnings cause the concept of death in this musical is weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:13:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24106507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveryink/pseuds/silveryink
Summary: Of Eurydice's past and future, and the storm that shaped her life.
Relationships: Eurydice/Orpheus (Hadestown)
Kudos: 12





	1. in spite of herself (she decided to stay)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Any Way the Wind Blows.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world above...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eurydice's mythological origins are... hazy, as opposed to Orpheus. Some sources say that she's a nymph, and others that she's a daughter of Apollo. I thought, while fleshing out her backstory, that keeping it a bit blurry anyway would probably be thematically appropriate, considering she doesn't remember a time before the erratic changes in the weather in the musical.   
> Mostly, though, I'm leaning towards the 'Eurydice was a nymph' idea.
> 
> There's a lot of symbolism going on, because I love my symbolism. Hope you all enjoy!

It started when she was a young girl, communally raised by the nymphs living by the water spring. Eurydice didn’t remember much of her life before the storm, but she knew that it had been peaceful and happy. Summer days had been warm and bright, while winter brought a pleasant chill into their houses. Occasionally, it was cold enough to see some snowfall, but they had always had enough firewood to light in the furnace for warmth.

Spring and fall had been fleeting, but Eurydice loved them with all her heart – before the storm swept up everything in its wake and left her alone to fend for herself. The nymphs were nowhere to be found, despite how much she screamed, so she packed her bags with what little supplies she could salvage from the wreckage of their home and fled.

The storm had followed her ever since, until she could hardly remember a time when it didn’t exist. She couldn’t split her early memories into a clear Before and After, because she couldn’t fathom what Before must have been like. It might have existed, but it was no more than a fleeting vision of the past, barely the wisp of a dream.

For years she ran – tried to outrun the storm, to survive and dodge the dismal shadow she wished she could be rid of. Summers were a thing of the past, while spring and fall might as well have not existed. The thin, tattered coat and rucksack on her back were her fellow – and _only_ companions, for she never stayed long enough in a single place to make a friend. She was lonely and tired, but all she could think was that she had to keep moving, lest the storm caught up to her.

She only sought refuge when it was needed, though she ached to sleep on a proper bed for once. She stayed at inns when the winters were bad, but usually just stopped by them for a meal and some warmth before leaving again. Eurydice had stayed temporarily at some rather lovely places, wishing she could remain for longer, but the winds usually picked up at this thought and she knew that it was time to hit the road once more.

The day she stepped into Hermes’ bar by the railroad, the warmth blanketed her in a comforting wave. It was the only shelter she’d seen in a fortnight, and while she had gone longer on the roads, that winter had been the worst in a long time. The cold had seeped through her coat with no idea of leaving, but finally lifted when she sank into an empty seat farthest from the door.

“Anybody got a match?”

* * *

Eurydice didn’t often think about her past, but as the days blended into weeks, she couldn’t help but do so. Orpheus’ sweet voice summoned forth memories she couldn’t believe were hers: green fields of grass, flowers bursting into bloom in riotous colours, the shimmering blue of the nearby rivers and lakes she would run off to, the healthy bark of the trees.

The other nymphs had told her that it was a feeling like no other, that she would know when it was right to permanently bind her spirit to something. _Like coming home_. Since her childhood, she hadn’t entertained the idea – especially once she’d started to move from settlement to settlement with no anchor, one that would only mean ruin for her.

Watching him as he sang to her, she thought she understood why she’d never spared a thought towards binding her spirit to a single natural feature.

See, Orpheus was a muse’s son, touched by the gods, but his music flowed with a magic of his own. It was as Hermes had said: he could make her feel _alive_ – no, it was _better_ , for Eurydice was reborn in light of Orpheus’ heartfelt melodies. As she giddily let him tuck the little carnation he’d created into her hair, she realised that this was what coming home felt like, and thought she could bask in the sensation forever.

She didn’t mind the thought of staying here a while longer, if it meant she could hear him sing like that every day.

* * *

_Lover, tell me who you are_.

The words echoed in Eurydice’s mind all day. The couple had taken a walk by the woods one day that summer, and chanced upon an untouched clearing that was too well-hidden to be discovered. A lovers’ retreat, he’d quipped, before ducking under the ivy curtains. Eurydice had instantly followed, only to admire the way the cool sunlight danced across the grass and how the scattered half-blooming flowers seemed to be welcoming them into their midst.

Spring would be here soon, and the very _notion_ of it thrilled her.

Orpheus had already taken a seat by the river bend, and motioned for her to join him. Her heart ached with a ghost memory, of a place much like this with nymphs flitting about their day. She’d said as much, and when Orpheus had gently asked her if she wanted to talk more about her past, she readily unleashed the torrent of memories, of a life she no longer remembered living, and how she had been uprooted ever since. She told him about the storm, her decision to run and escape, how it always caught up to her.

By the end of her tale, she was weeping, and her partner wiped away her tears with gentle reassurances that she wouldn’t be alone this time, the storm couldn’t touch her when he held her in his arms.

In turn, once she was done, she said, “Lover, tell me who you are.”

And, the angel that he was, Orpheus obliged immediately.

He was the son of a muse, she already knew: his mother was Calliope, the muse of epic poetry. Rather fitting, considering his aim to sing the story of the gods to bring the world back in order. He had been left at Hermes’ bar when he was a child, and raised by the god ever since. Hermes had been the one to give him his lyre, he said, and teach him how to play. His voice, though, he learned to use all on his own. Words came easily to him when they were lyrical, not so much in regular speech, so he made a reputation for himself as the resident bard and poet.

Eurydice could see it all in her mind’s eye – she _did_ know that Orpheus would spend all his days working on his music if he could, and saw daily how engrossed he could become in his task. It was as if he spoke another language, one she was helplessly drawn to and couldn’t hope to decipher in all her life. Orpheus went on to talk about how he’d befriended Persephone over the years and come to eagerly await her return to the Earth from the Underworld.

She had one more demand after he finished his story.

“Sing for me?”

“Of course.”

* * *

Lady Persephone had returned from the Underworld, and it was _glorious_. The road to Hell was full of Life, and all around her Eurydice could only feel joy. Their troubles hadn’t vanished, but they could celebrate and forget for a while.

And celebrate they did. The goddess of spring seemed to conduct grander revels than Dionysus himself, with people bursting into song and dance on the streets even as they saw her step off the train on the day of her return. Orpheus had taken her coat once they ushered her into Hermes’ bar, and the tables had been cleared before drinks began flowing incessantly.

Warmth flooded through her heart as she joined the dancers on the floor. It was so like the times she’d spent with the nymphs in her childhood, trying to copy their moves and hopping about in her youthful enthusiasm. This didn’t set her afire like Orpheus’ music did, but it certainly made her feel like she could live forever.

“Let the poet bless this round,” Hermes called, tossing a mercifully empty cup at his ward. Orpheus caught it neatly from where he stood on the table before stooping to fill it with wine.

The toast wasn’t a song, but the words flowed easily this time. Eurydice smiled – she loved watching her husband perform before a crowd, and this _was_ a performance, with people hanging onto his every word, nodding along in assent. It was mesmerizing. She snapped out of her thoughts in time to raise her cup with the rest and drink to their futures. Orpheus met her gaze as he lowered his own cup and grinned, with a hint of impishness that hadn’t been there before.

Eurydice smiled back, ignoring Persephone’s wide-eyed, significant nudge, feeling as content as she thought a person could ever be. The storm could wait, or consume her for all that she cared in that moment. With his sweet promises from the day of their marriage, their careful admissions of love, and his arms around her, she could deal with anything the Fates threw at her.

If it meant more days like this, then she was here to stay.


	2. it was written long ago (and that is how it goes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... and the one down below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the dialogue is taken directly from the musical or paraphrased to seem less lyrical.  
> Apologies for all the angst. I really liked the storm imagery, as well as the behaviour of the three Fates in the musical, and it turned dark really fast.
> 
> Also, the joys of writing: unexpected, extra-lengthy chapters, because I got carried away in each section.

For all the talk about Hadestown, Eurydice didn’t think it was so bad. She would be able to work, have a stable roof over her head and the warmth of the furnaces to keep the chill of winter away. While Hades was an intimidating figure, his demeanor had simply been stoic and businesslike as he laid out the contract before her and handed her a pen to sign her name. She’d scrawled it out without hesitation, and only the barest hint of an expression had crossed the king’s face.

He’d shown her into a storeroom and given her a uniform to change into before stepping out. As she slipped into the stone-grey overalls, she thought about what would happen overground now. She felt terribly guilty about leaving Orpheus, but if a temporary separation meant bringing some wealth into their home, she was ready to work for it. The directions to the factories were simple enough, and she burst through one of the entrances, ready to step into her new job.

She found three ladies waiting for her, all dressed in grey dresses and matching turbans. She caught the odd shimmering of their fabric and felt a chill trickle down her spine.

“The deal is signed, then?” the one on the left asked.

“Yes,” Eurydice answered hesitantly. Were these ladies the bosses of the place? They were strangely familiar…

“About time,” the one in the middle drawled.

“Get on the line,” the third snapped.

She thought of her husband once more, and guilt swooped through her. He would think she abandoned him, but this was necessary. “I did what I had to do,” she murmured.

“That’s what they did too,” the first lady said mockingly.

The uneasy feeling in the back of her mind grew stronger, but she shook it aside.

“I’m Eurydice,” she called, striding up to one of the workers. The man kept hammering away without any indication that he’d heard her. She frowned. “Doesn’t anybody hear me?”

“Oh, they can hear,” said the third lady.

“They simply don’t care. Nobody has a name down here,” the second lady explained. As she went on, with the others smirking at her sides, a horrible revelation struck Eurydice.

A tight band wrapped itself around her throat. She knew these ladies, knew why she felt so uneasy around them. She’d known them all her life, chasing her as she ran from place to place with no regard for stopping. She’d heard their voices before, in the back of her mind, all her life.

She’d come here to escape the storm, but it had caught up to her after all.

“See, Mr. Hades wanted to expand his empire, and he had all the manpower and wealth in the Underworld to help.”

 _Oh, Styx_. These women were always there before the storm caught up to her – it made sense that the Fates would be here too.

“He promised freedom, though,” Eurydice protested, her vision blurring momentarily. “Food, freedom and fire.”

The ladies all laughed as one, and the hair on Eurydice’s neck stood on end.

“Oh, you’re free alright,” the first Fate chuckled. “Free to work for the rest of eternity.”

“If you want fire, we have it aplenty,” the second added, gesturing towards the furnaces.

“As for food,” the third lady’s voice dripped with false sympathy, “what did you think the _dead_ would eat?”

The band tightened. “No,” she exhaled, looking around her in horror. She ran to one of the workers and waved a hand in front of his eyes, a bit desperately. Surely there was a way to convince these people –

But it was as if she didn’t exist.

“Why won’t anyone look at me?”

“They chose to be this way, remember? Like you, they signed their lives away.”

She stilled. A fog seemed to seep into her mind, leaving behind the barest amount of consciousness. Speech was hard, but Eurydice could manage one question. “You mean, I’ll look like – like _that_?”

The Fates hummed in unison. “Eventually,” the first said nonchalantly. “All you’ll remember is the place on the assembly line. You'll blend right in with the rest of the _lampades,_ there's no doubt about that.”

Her heart leaped into her throat, and tears sprang to her eyes. “I have to go,” she gasped past the choking fog that now surrounded her.

“Go where?”

“Go back,” she said, but to her dismay, she didn’t know what exactly _back_ was. Only the vague feeling of sun on her skin, a comforting warmth around her, and a name kept barely out of her reach.

“Oh?”

“And where is that?”

She didn’t respond. She’d already forgotten.

* * *

_Come home with me_.

Eurydice’s pickaxe clattered to the ground as she swiveled around. Her heart burst with warmth, and recognition flooded through her mind when she saw his battered and bruised form. Her voice caught in her throat, but she managed a small, single phrase.

“It’s you.”

“It’s me,” Orpheus agreed earnestly.

She laughed and charged right into his arms. “Orpheus!”

“Eurydice,” he returned dutifully, holding her tightly. He was shaking, from exhaustion or relief – she couldn’t tell, but knew that he wouldn’t care about the former.

“I called your name before.”

“I know,” he said sheepishly, once he’d stepped away. He rubbed his neck, squirming a little under her scrutinising gaze – much sharper than it had been mere moments ago.

“You heard?”

He shook his head, and his hair fell into his face with the motion. “Mr. Hermes told me so.”

Orpheus stepped forward and took her arms gently in his. She thought she could weep at the gesture – much softer and kinder than anything in this godforsaken plane of reality. “I’m to blame for this mess,” Orpheus continued. “I should have listened – I should have heard you when you called.”

She shook her head. Oh, no, while the tipping point to her despair had been his lack of reaction to her calls, she had made a conscious choice to come down here. “You came,” she said. The fog in the factory seemed to affect only the workers, and she was only somewhat free from the Lethe’s pull.

“How’d you get here?” she asked, tripping over the words. “The train?”

“No, I walked,” Orpheus said, and Eurydice’s mind came to a screeching halt. Gods, what a wondrous creature he was, to have walked all the way to the Underworld just to bring her back.

“How did you get beyond the wall?” Charon’s entrance was the only one she knew – the Styx was otherwise impenetrable, and that was _before_ the workers had started to make the adjustments to the wall’s structure.

“I sang a song,” he said, frowning. “I’m not sure how, but the stones seemed to weep. They split for me and let me in.”

She stared up at him. She remembered the stories she’d overheard during her travels – that the wall around Hadestown had once been the river Styx, before it had dried out and left the bed perfect for construction. Could the nymph bonded to the river have moved _into_ the wall?

The idea was strange and impossible, but Eurydice had no standard to hold _impossible_ to. People said that only the dead could enter Hadestown, and yet here Orpheus stood.

“I suppose I could sing us out,” he continued, and her heart dropped all the way down to Tartarus when she realised what the Fates had done.

“No,” she said numbly, “you can’t.”

“Of course I can,” he argued, determination sparking in his eyes. “I came here to bring you home, Eurydice, I-”

She let out a single sob and forced herself to meet his eyes. “No, Orpheus. You don’t understand.”

She’d heard the legends, but paid them no heed. Hadestown had never been an option for her until that winter, so she’d almost forgotten it. She’d overheard some weary traveller bring up a rumour in Hermes’ bar one night when she took over Orpheus’ shifts, that Hades was recruiting nymphs to work on the wall. She hadn’t given it much thought till now, really, because it hadn’t made sense till now.

The dead would always live in the Underworld, of course – there was no choice for them, not like the one she’d made. The workers had all made choices, had signed themselves over to eternal labour, much like herself, and set themselves apart from the rest. In seeking a different alternative, they’d tempted the Fates themselves, and been changed to fit.

See, Eurydice was a nymph, and when she had signed her life away, she’d finally bound her spirit to Hadestown.

* * *

When Hermes took them aside to tell them about Hades’ decision, Eurydice thought she understood the old king’s motivation. Pass or fail, the outcome was on them – specifically, it was on Orpheus.

“It’s a trap, isn’t it?”

“It’s a trial,” Hermes corrected gently. “To see if you trust each other, if you trust _yourselves_.”

Orpheus’ eyes widened, and he met Eurydice’s measured gaze. She couldn’t let her worry show, so she settled for a reassuring squeeze of his hand and a genuine smile.

“So, _do_ you?” Hermes asked pointedly.

“We do.”

“You listen to me, brother,” Hermes said, and it struck Eurydice that he’d never called Orpheus that before. Things were different now, though, hadn’t they? Her husband was a changed man, without the innocent wonder sparkling in his eyes before the storm. Her heart broke when she thought of all that he must have endured on his way – and with that, her betrayal.

“You have to prove yourself before gods and men, if you intend to walk out of Hell,” Hermes warned. “The Styx will let you pass, and the nymphs will not interfere in your journey. So, can you do it?”

This time, they replied without hesitation. “We can.”

“A’ight, time to go,” Hermes announced.

“Mr. Hermes,” Orpheus called after hugging Eurydice fleetingly.

“Yes?”

“It’s not a trick?”

Eurydice could see the sadness in Hermes’ eyes at the question. Before his long walk to Hadestown, Orpheus would have accepted Hades’ conditions without a single doubt in his mind of foul play.

“No. It’s a test.”

* * *

If this was a test, it was set up for failure, Eurydice thought miserably.

Orpheus was shivering as he walked, and she could see the way he held his shoulders stiffly as he forced himself to keep moving forward, one step at a time. She wished there was something to do to help him, but whatever she said, he didn’t seem to hear. She fell silent when she felt the chill at the back of her neck once more. She remembered the feeling acutely this time, and knew that the Fates had arrived again.

Before her, Orpheus stopped. Eurydice heard whispers around her, barely intelligible phrases, but her husband must have understood what they were because he promptly clapped his hands over his ears and started to sing. The whispers stopped, but Eurydice knew that whatever he’d heard had upset him greatly. Even in the dim light, she could see him trembling awfully.

When Orpheus sang to Hades, all the workers had echoed his melody. Now, the long tunnel carried his voice away into the emptiness. He inhaled sharply and continued to walk, bringing his hands down to wrap around himself tightly. Eurydice sped up so that she was right behind him, calling out platitudes and assurances of her presence to hopefully help him relax a little.

Orpheus sang now, something entirely different from anything he’d sung before: a cry for help, a lament, and it did not help soothe Eurydice’s nerves.

She could see a pinprick of light before them, and tried calling for Orpheus in the language he understood best; she sang to him. She sang of hope, of the journey he’d taken, the one they were on now, and what lay before them, now clearly in sight.

They were close to the end of the tunnel, and for all that Orpheus seemed on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion, he moved with more purpose now that his goal was in sight. Eurydice was startled by the change and picked up her own pace, some strange sensation washing over to her as he stepped out into the light.

It happened almost too fast for her to see, but it couldn’t be undone.

He was out, and she wasn’t.

“It’s you,” he said, eyes wide, as though he hadn’t expected her to _actually_ be there.

“It’s me.” A pause, and she knew that what she said next would be her last words to him, so she poured all her forgiveness and regret and love into them. In the end, she only needed to say one word; three syllables.

“Orpheus,” she called softly, and met her husband’s gaze one last time. The poor man looked horrified by what he had just done.

“Eurydice,” he whispered, reaching out to her, slowed by his shock.

Then the light hit her arm and she was called back into Hadestown before they could touch, his wail of anguish echoing in a haunting howl around her, announcing their fate. She fell to her knees by the gate, knowing that her fate had been sealed the moment she’d signed Hades’ contract. By all the gods of Olympus, she’d hoped that she would make it, but the Fates had played their game well, and she was back in Hadestown.

And this time, she had no choice but to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The _lampades_ (sing. _lampas_ ) are the torch-bearing nymphs of the Underworld. It made sense to consider that not all of the dead would have been workers, taking Hades' claim that he only buys 'what others choose to sell' into consideration.
> 
> Coming back to the 'Eurydice was a nymph' theme, with a little bit of myth-bending, this tiny headcanon of tragedy emerged. Also, I really liked how sinister the Fates were in the musical - they seemed to almost enjoy manipulating the story to failure at the end, and it's more tragic when you realise that they _are_ , in fact, controlling the outcome of the story in real time.


End file.
